


mock orange

by syrupwit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), F/F, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit
Summary: Fog swarmed them, dense and smeary as ash.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Writing Rainbow Make Up Round, Writing Rainbow: Orange





	mock orange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [May](https://archiveofourown.org/users/May/gifts).



> Written for the Writing Rainbow Make Up Round, for a request in Writing Rainbow Orange. I loved your Gertrude prompts, particularly the "Accidental Apotheosis" tag, and really wanted to write something. Absolutely no worries whatsoever if you're no longer interested in receiving fic for this fandom or pairing.

“Well,” said Gertrude briskly. “I don’t think any of us expected this.”

Her fallen enemy, some Lukas or another, no longer lay in sight. Fog swarmed them, dense and smeary as ash. It was the pasty gray of an extinguished campfire. For the first time in her life, Agnes felt a chill: a creeping moisture that condensed first on her arms and face, then spread through her core from the soles of her feet. She heard a soft hiss, and noticed steam rising from her clothes. Her fingers had already gone numb.

After decades of furtive correspondence—letters that lit themselves and crumbled as each line was read, secret images beamed whole into Agnes’s mind—it was strange seeing Gertrude face to face, and stranger still to hear her crisp, calm voice. Agnes had dreamed of this meeting, in truth had ached for it. They had planned so many months for this victory. Now that they finally had a moment of peace together, Gertrude was disappearing.

Or she wasn’t. Her pinched, care-worn face—ever bearing the inscriptions of the years, while Agnes’s own face remained fresh and unlined—paled but did not fade. Her outline grew indistinct, translucent. The chilly air gained an oppressive edge of frost. 

Sorrow rolled through Agnes’s body, sinking her to her knees in the coiling fog. She reached for familiar flames to lift her, to scorch away this power, but Gertrude made too strong an avatar. They were bound, by fate and choice, and Agnes couldn't escape even if she wanted to. A sob of rage caught in her throat.

“Oh, Agnes,” said Gertrude, perceiving her. The pity in her expression was entirely and uselessly honest. Agnes shut her eyes as a wan hand tried, and failed, to brush the tears from her frigid cheek.


End file.
